This past summer my little mom turned 80. This is hard to believe because she is truly still a kid at heart, full of wonder and unconditional love. We had a party up at Alturas Lake, a tree-lined mountain lake—our family’s traditional vacation spot. We had all gathered in Smokey Lodge to celebrate with our mom. She stood up and thanked everyone for being there, despite the miles. My sister Loralyn responded, “Thanks for having us.” (Pun intended—it was, after all, a gathering of Walker children.)
Some had written some thoughts down and we had some of the younger kids read them. My sister Jeanie, 2.5 years my senior, shared this memory.
“I remember: In the house on Harrison, Mom wrapping us in towels after our bath and laying us on the carpet in the sun, very womb-like.”
I instantly realized I was one of the “us.” This gift of a forgotten memory—the clean, warm, bright, terry-cloth wrapped feeling—was sweet, vivid, and unexpectedly deep. And it preempted my current earliest memory—riding a red tricycle on the sidewalk in front of our Boise home.
I couldn’t say Lissa when I was little so I called her Mama Si-si. She was 6th and I was 9th so she was the perfect age to watch over me. This past weekend she fell off some stairs and hurt her elbow and foot. As we helped her, I began to comprehend her level of caring for me when I was small and now that I’m, well, big.
All of my sisters are warm and caring, having inherited these and other great traits from Mom. Our dad had his strengths but if you wanted a long, compassionate listen, you would go see mom. I am so grateful for these women who have watched over me. I could write a lot about each of my sisters, and I will. But, in the spirit of keeping these to a readable length, I’ll stop for now.
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